D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven Raphael 1

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

 

Chapter Twenty-five

IT WAS SHIFT change at the station; blue uniforms crowded the hallways, coming and going amidst the usual flotsam of a big city police station. She saw a few people she knew and waved; saw some others she knew and looked the other way. There was more than one reason Cyn had decided to become a private investigator. Low whistles of appreciation for her snug skirt followed her passage through the warren of desks in the squad room. So much for sensitivity training, she thought. Dean Eckhoff was waiting for her when she rounded the corner to his office, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling like he’d been waiting a long time.

“Cut the dramatics, Eckhoff, you’ve got nowhere else to be and you know it.”

He let his chair drop to the ground with a scowl in her direction. “I’ll have you know, Ms. Leighton, that I’ve got a lady friend who’s very anxious for my company this evening.”

“Yeah, but she only wants you to scratch her belly while you watch Wheel of Fortune, and that doesn’t come on for a couple of hours yet.”

Eckhoff shook his head in disgust. “You wound my ego, Cyn. How’s a man supposed to make it in the world when a beautiful woman says things like that to him?”

“As if,” she said, chuckling. She gave a deep sigh and flopped down on the chair in front of his desk, painfully aware of her short skirt and bare legs.

“Rough day?” he mocked.

“You have no idea.” She eyed her old friend. “You look good, Dean. Maybe you really do have a lady waiting for you.” Eckhoff was a tall, skinny guy who dressed like an Oxford don and could talk like one too, when he got the urge. Which urge usually involved an inordinate amount of alcohol. His eyes were a washed out blue and what was left of his hair still showed some red through the gray. He’d worn a comb-over for years after he started going bald, until Cynthia had given him her unvarnished opinion on comb-overs. Turns out he had a perfectly nice skull.

“So what brings you way over here today, grasshopper?”

She smiled. “I’m working a job for a client. It looks like a kidnapping, probably extortion to get something out of my guy. Some information surfaced that makes us think there might be a connection to the Russians.”

Eckhoff frowned. “Isn’t that a little out of your league, Cyn? Did you tell him to call his friendly police force?”

“You know me better than that, Dean. Of course I did. But this guy’s not gonna make that call. He’s got reasons. Pretty good ones, actually.”

Eckhoff regarded her somberly. “This one of your special clients?”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged, which was the same as admitting it.

“Yeah. Well, that does make a difference, I guess. Can’t blame the guy for wanting to keep a low profile. So who’s working it with you?”

“Just me, all by my lonesome. You know I work alone.”

“Which is why you’re no longer wearing a blue uniform,” he replied sourly.

Cyn shrugged. “Partly. So, what do you know about the local Russians? I’ve got a couple—”

“Not my territory, sweetie.”

“Not directly, no. But you must have caught a few cases, heard a few things?”

“Not lately. Listen, Cyn, I really do have to get out of here. You want to walk out with me?”

“Sure,” she said, puzzled. “I’m parked out back.”

“Perfect.”

ECKHOFF PUT A companionable arm around her and pulled her close as the station house door closed behind them. “You wanna be careful talking about the Russians around here, Cyn,” he murmured softly. “They’ve got someone feeding them from the inside, and we can’t figure out who it is. They’ve pulled everyone from this division.”

Cynthia laughed up at him, as if they were having a lighthearted conversation. “How long?” she asked.

“Couple of months, maybe more. How much do you know?”

“Not much. I’ve got two names. One’s pretty solid, guy’s name is Kolinsky. The other’s a long shot. Pushkin. And a possible hit on a phony export company over in East L.A. Pretty weak, but it’s all I’ve got so far.”

“I don’t know anybody named Pushkin, but Kolinsky runs out of Odessa Exports over on Vermont.” Bingo, Cyn thought. “I probably have a mug shot handy; I’ll fax it to you. He’s not the top guy,” Eckhoff continued. “But he’s pretty damn close. Your friend Carballo would know more. I hear they’ve got her working that side of town these days.”

“Benita?”

“The only one I know.”

“That’s not her usual beat.”

“Hey, I don’t ask questions. But I’m pretty sure it’s reliable. Listen, Cyn. That’s a bad crew. These Russian guys are some bloodthirsty motherfuckers. You don’t go in there alone, you hear me? Even if it’s only to ask questions, you take some of those vamps along. I hear they put even the Colombians to shame.”

“Thanks, Dean. I owe you one. You give your girlfriend an extra belly rub for me.” She grinned, then stood on her toes and kissed his freckled cheek.

“No respect. Take care, grasshopper. I mean it.”

Cyn did a mock little bow, her hands palm to palm in front of her. She strode across the parking lot to her own car, the setting sun nearly blinding her. She climbed inside and flipped down the visor, then turned the ignition and headed toward Malibu. The vampires would be waking soon and it was time to play with some bad guys.

 

Chapter Twenty-six

CYN TURNED OFF the highway and dropped down the short drive to her condo, fumbling for the opener in her SUV’s center console. Her headlights swept over the closed garage door, and she looked up automatically as she clicked the device. She swore softly. A familiar long, black limo was parked against the ice plant-covered hill, and she didn’t need her headlights to identify the small mountain standing next to it. Juro. Which meant . . . the limo door opened as she drove past and she caught a glimpse of broad shoulders and dark hair. Of course.

She parked the Land Rover and was swinging her long legs out of the truck when Raphael strolled into the garage. Well, damn. The vampire lord was dressed all in black, from his long-sleeved t-shirt to his oh-so-tight denims and smooth leather boots. And over it all, he wore an ankle-length coat of black leather that just begged to be touched, smelled, rubbed all over one’s body. Down, girl.

She met Raphael’s eyes, letting her appreciation show. Why pretend? The vampire lord returned the compliment, sweeping his gaze the length of her body, lingering on her bare legs beneath the short, slim skirt, before traveling up to meet her eyes in turn. “Good evening, Cyn,” he said in a voice that promised so much more than merely good. “What do you have for me?”

Cynthia stared at the beautiful male specimen in front of her. Vampire or not, Raphael was fully, gloriously male. There was no doubt of that. Nor of the instant, almost irresistible, attraction she felt toward him. She gave a nearly desperate, sobbing laugh at her own helpless reaction to him. Behind him, Duncan gave her a scandalized look, but Raphael merely laughed with her. He was an arrogant son of a bitch; he understood perfectly.

Cyn took a deep breath and kneaded her forehead, trying to rub some sanity into her brain. “Listen,” she said, with a glance at Duncan. “I’m sorry about last night, the whole thing with Judkins—” She looked up to find Raphael only inches away. He smiled.

“Sweet Cyn.” He touched one cool finger to her cheek, the softest touch. “A misunderstanding.”

She looked into his eyes and felt herself falling. She looked away, conscious of the other vampires watching. “I’ve got a location for Kolinsky,” she said, breathlessly. “I came home to change clothes . . .”

“What a shame,” Raphael murmured.

Her heart thumped and she scowled at him. “. . . and then I’m going to go check it out.”

Raphael frowned. “Not alone, surely.”

Cynthia gave him a genuine smile. He cared. “No, actually, I was going to call and see if you could send a couple of your vamps along. It strikes me they might be handy in a fight.”

“Indeed. How many do you need?”

Cynthia thought about it. Mob guys tended to hang around in clumps, all that testosterone in one place made everyone feel like they had more. All the bad guys, anyway. On the other hand, Raphael’s men were pretty lethal, and she certainly didn’t want a bloodbath, if she could avoid it. Not that the city wouldn’t benefit from fewer gangsters hanging around, but it might look suspicious right after she’d been asking questions.

“I think four would be enough. Probably more than enough, but two can hang back in case I need them. Better safe than sorry.”

“Excellent. Will we fit in your car or shall I send Juro back to fetch the big SUV? The limo is a bit too noticeable, don’t you think?”

“Whoa!” Cynthia said, even as Duncan straightened in alarm and said, “Sire!”

Raphael glanced from one to the other of them, his eyebrows raised in question. Cynthia looked at Duncan and yielded the field to him.

“Sire, you cannot mean to do this yourself?” he asked diplomatically.

“But I do. It’s been too long, Duncan, since I’ve left the safety of my estate and my guards. My enemies have noticed; they see it as a weakness. Do you think they would be moving against me otherwise? I must show them differently.”

Duncan closed his eyes in resignation, then opened them to glare at Cynthia.

“Hey, don’t look at me, Blondie. This isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, either.”

Raphael gave her a wolfish grin. Oh gods, he was looking forward to this. She figured the possibility of bloodshed had just increased dramatically. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I have to change clothes.” She spun around and was sliding the key card through the reader before she was aware that Raphael stood right behind her. She gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. “I don’t really need help for this part, my lord.”

“You can fill me in on the details while you change. No need to waste time, is there?”

“You know that whole vampires and invitation thing? Can that be undone?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t really work that way, Cyn,” he said cheerfully.

“Too bad,” she muttered as she pushed open the door.

CYNTHIA CLIMBED the stairs, very aware of the vampire behind her, his gaze no doubt firmly fixed on her ass. Could be worse, she thought to herself. At least the ass was equally firm; God knows she worked hard enough to keep it that way. She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter trying to force its way up and swallowed it down with a cough.

Reaching the second level, she proceeded directly through the kitchen to the next set of stairs. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said with a wave of her arm. “I’ll be five—”

Raphael threw his elegant coat over the kitchen island and followed her. She frowned at him. “I thought we already established that I’m more comfortable upstairs with you,” he said with an innocent expression.

“Don’t even bother with that look,” she scoffed.

Once in her bedroom, Raphael glanced around quickly, then slouched gracefully onto her bed, his long legs stretched out, his back propped against the pillows and headboard. Cynthia kicked off her shoes without thinking, then glanced up and caught the heat in his gaze. She swallowed dryly. “I’ll . . .” She coughed nervously. “I’ll just change in the closet.”

“Don’t leave on my account,” Raphael purred. “I’m quite comfortable now.”

Cynthia hurried into the closet and began unbuttoning her shirt. She threw the suit into the hamper for dry cleaning. It wasn’t really dirty, but that was faster than hanging it up and she felt the need to get clothes on quickly. She pulled her jeans on without zipping them and yanked a turtleneck sweater over her head, fluffing her hair back up with one hand. She was bending over to pull on her shitkicker boots, when she heard Raphael call out.

“How was your trip to Mrs. Judkins, Cyn?”

Cynthia suddenly remembered why she was supposed to be pissed at the vampire. Her boots in one hand, she stormed out of the closet. “That was a dirty trick, Raphael. You could have warned me—”

He shot off the bed faster than her eyes could follow, suddenly right in front of her, his eyes sleepy with lust, his voice so deep she could feel the vibration in her chest. “Was there a problem at the Judkins, Cyn?” His fingers slipped easily into the open waistband of her jeans, sliding beneath the fabric to caress her bare hip, his thumb insinuating itself beneath the band of her thong. It was such an intimate gesture, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up and met his black eyes. No, not black. Not now. They gleamed silver in the dim light.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, no. It . . . it surprised me, that’s all,” she managed to say.

He lowered his head and ran his lips along her jaw, nuzzling first her ear, then her neck. The line of their bodies never touched, only his fingers stroking the smooth, naked skin of her hip. His lips touched hers gently, nudging her mouth open, his tongue circling, tasting her.

Cynthia responded. How could she not? Every nerve in her body was tingling with desire, her breasts begging to be touched, her mouth welcoming him even as she fought to keep from pressing herself against his hard body.

“So little time, sweet Cyn,” he whispered, then stepped back.

Cynthia gasped as he moved away. She wanted to curse him, to scream at him to . . . what? Christ, she wanted him to take her, to throw her on the big bed and fuck her brains out. She knew what he’d feel like between her legs, forcing that thick shaft deep into her and driving it in and out . . .

Pull yourself together, Cyn!

“Right,” she managed. “Okay . . .” She looked down at the bare skin still visible beneath her unzipped denims and wondered if she’d find a handprint seared into her skin where his fingers had held her. She shook her head and went to zip up, but discovered she was still holding the boots. Dropping them to the floor, she zipped quickly and sat down to pull them on. Raphael was back on the bed, sitting there watching her as if he’d never moved. Son of a bitch.

“Okay,” she said. “Kolinsky.”

“Kolinsky,” Raphael agreed.

“He’s Russian Mafia, fairly high up. That’s all I could find out on that score, but I’ll check my office here before we leave. My guy was going to fax a picture over. I’ve got another friend who might be able to tell me more, but she’s on assignment and I have to wait for her to call me. There’s no way of knowing when that will be, which is why I want to check out this warehouse myself. Whoever’s making this move on you won’t wait forever.”

“Certainly not. In fact, I would expect to hear from them very soon.”

She spun around to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m in the midst of some . . . delicate negotiations. I begin to think these events are related.”

“Why?”

Raphael studied her carefully, then gave a barely discernible nod, as if deciding to trust her. “You say this Kolinsky is Russian. Let us just say, my current business also has a Russian connection.”

“Makes sense.”

“Unfortunately.”

Cynthia stood, stomping her feet firmly into the boots. “You ready to rock and roll?”

Raphael rolled gracefully off the bed and to his feet. Slowly enough for her to watch him this time. Which she did. Anyway you looked at it, moving or standing still, he was total eye candy. “Juro has arrived with the SUV.”

“I’ll drive my own car,” she insisted.

“Two cars, then. I’ll ride with you.”

Cyn snorted. She and Raphael alone in her truck on a dark night. They’d be lucky if they made it out of the driveway with their clothes on.

 

Chapter Twenty-seven

CYN ADJUSTED THE angle of her rear view mirror so she couldn’t see the fierce scowl Duncan was aiming at her from the backseat. She hadn’t needed to worry about being alone with Raphael after all. Duncan had insisted on going with them, as if it was she who posed a threat to the vampire lord, rather than the other way around. Next to her in the front passenger seat, Raphael sat tapping his fingers rhythmically on the padded leather of the door. Oh, for God’s sake, she thought. He was humming. The vampire lord was humming a cheerful, little tune. He was happy. Cyn shook her head and focused on the directions the in-dash GPS was feeding her. This was a part of L.A. she was not at all familiar with. It was heavily commercial, mostly abandoned this time of night, with few streetlights and too many dark corners. She made the final turn and drove slowly, looking for the address, noticing that very few of the buildings had signs of any kind, much less a street number.

“There,” Raphael said, pointing ahead to the left. “Odessa Imports.” He and Duncan exchanged a quick look, and Cynthia wondered what secrets the two of them were keeping from her. Okay, probably thousands, but the only ones that concerned her were anything to do with the mob hangout they were about to enter.

She pulled up to the curb outside and shut off the engine, noting the SUV with the other two vamps coasting to a stop right behind her. “I’ll go in first. I’m harmless compared to you two. I’ll just—”

“No,” Raphael said flatly. “We’ll go in together.”

“If the two of you walk through that door, the place will be empty in three minutes. You guys don’t exactly give off a friendly vibe.”

“And you, Cyn, are far too tempting a target. A woman alone in a place like this? I think not. Very well. The two of us, then.”

“I will go with her, Master, if you will remain here with the others.” It was a futile effort, and Duncan knew it even as he spoke the words; she could hear it in his voice.

Raphael was already climbing out of the car, and Cyn hustled to follow before he stomped through the door on his own and destroyed any chance of doing this peacefully. For that matter, she couldn’t even be certain this was a criminal hangout. There were probably a half dozen sweatshops within walking distance in this neighborhood. They could barge in and find nothing more than a bunch of illegals putting together toys to go under the Christmas trees of nice, middle-class homes all over America. She said as much to Raphael.

“You don’t believe that,” he said simply.

“No.” She drew her gun, checked the full magazine, then reinserted it.

“Wait here with the others, Duncan,” Raphael said without looking away from her. “You will know if I need you.”

Duncan didn’t even bother to argue. He drew a single resigned breath, then nodded. “As you wish, Sire.”

Raphael turned long enough to give his lieutenant a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then said, “Who shall we be, Cyn? I don’t suppose you still have your badge?”

Cynthia rolled her eyes. Great. Just great. “You be the strong, silent muscle,” she said, checking the small of her back beneath her leather jacket, verifying the second gun tucked into her waistband. “I’ll do the talking, okay?”

Raphael shrugged. “For now,” he agreed, suddenly deadly serious. He walked over and pulled open the heavy door, letting a wan light spill into the street. Cynthia looked up at him as she entered the building and shivered at the unmistakable predator lurking behind his dark eyes.

IT WAS A SMALL, dismal office with flickering overhead lights that would have driven Cyn insane after the first ten minutes. The walls had probably been white at some time in the distant past, but were now so coated with grime and cigarette smoke they had a permanent yellowish cast. It made her want to go home and take a shower—a long, hot shower. There was only one window, and that appeared to lead not to anything as wholesome as fresh air, but to another room behind this one. A single inside door, metal and with an excellent lock, stood in marked contrast to the rest of the shabby office.

An older woman sat at a battered, industrial desk in front of the pass-thru window, her face as gray as her hair. She looked up at Cynthia and Raphael as they walked through the door, squinting through a permanent haze of cigarette smoke. Her gaze lingered on Raphael uneasily, then shifted to Cyn.

“You folks got the wrong address.” Her voice was a harsh rasp that told Cyn the cigarettes had already caught up with her.

Cynthia smiled and crossed over to the desk. “I don’t think so,” she said in a puzzled voice. “We’re looking for Mr. Kolinsky.”

“No one here by that name. No one here at all. Good-bye.”

Cyn opened her mouth to protest, but Raphael shifted, drawing the woman’s attention. “I believe Mr. Kolinsky will want to see us, Mavis,” he said in that silky voice of his.

The woman blinked in confusion. “Of course,” she rasped. “Let me get the door for you.” She stood and hobbled over, tugging a ring of keys from her sweater pocket, and struggled to insert one of them into the heavy lock.

“Let me do that,” Raphael said. “Why don’t you go back and sit down. You’re very tired. Maybe a nice nap will do.”

“Yes,” Mavis mumbled. “A nap. That’s the thing.” She was asleep before she sat down, her head hitting the desk with a thump that made Cynthia wince in sympathy.

“How do you do that?” she hissed, glaring at him suspiciously.

“Simple minds are simply persuaded,” he murmured, then swung suddenly, wrapping an arm around her waist and putting his mouth to her ear. “Have no fear, my Cyn. There is nothing simple about you.” He released her suddenly and she grabbed his arm to steady herself.

“Ready?” he mouthed. At her nod, he pushed through into the next room.

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

“SHIT!” CYNTHIA swore softly when she saw what waited on the other side. It was a warehouse, all right. A huge warren of stacked boxes and shelves that was nearly as deep as a football field was long, with no line of sight on the ground for more than eight feet in any direction. Raphael put a hand on her arm for silence, then nodded ahead, seconds before Cyn heard footsteps coming toward them.

“Mavis?” a man’s voice called out. “That you, Mavis?” he repeated more sharply.

Cynthia drew her Glock and stepped sideways between two rows of shelves. Raphael took a step back and simply disappeared, wrapping shadows around him where he stood.

The man was drawing his gun as he came into sight. He was middle-aged, puffy with fat and probably too much booze, his breath soughing in and out so loudly that even had he tried, he could not have moved quietly. Cyn swung her gun around silently, aiming center chest between the bare shelves.

The man frowned when he saw the empty hallway, the closed door. His eyes darted from side to side nervously. Moving with slow deliberation, he passed right by Raphael without seeing him, until the big vampire’s arm snaked out to hook around his neck, then twisted sharply. The crack of the man’s spine was loud in the silence. Even louder was the metallic ring of his gun as it fell to the concrete floor from his lifeless hand.

Cynthia watched the gun fall, then raised her eyes to meet Raphael’s. His were flat and black, not even a gleam of silver giving him away where he stood shrouded in his own darkness. She stepped cautiously over to the dead man, then gestured once again into the depths of the warehouse.

At first, they simply walked a straight line, or as near as possible. Eventually, the sound of raucous laughter and loud voices could be heard in the far corner, near what would be the alley side of the building. With a wordless glance, they shifted direction, moving at an angle, detouring around the seemingly random stacks of electronics and all manner of goods, from clothing to toys. As the voices grew louder, they slowed, Raphael coming up on Cynthia’s left.

The source of the noise came into sight and they paused. There were a dozen or more men gathered around some tables in a broad, open space next to a pair of huge roll-up doors. An enormous, wide screen television stood in one corner, the announcer’s voice bouncing off the concrete floor, a steady beat against the men’s shouts as they watched two half-naked fighters pummel each other in front of a screaming audience. There was a small office to one side. She could see an empty chair and the front edge of a desk, but couldn’t tell if anyone was in the room or not. She glanced up at Raphael, hoping he had a way of communicating with Duncan and the others, because they sure as hell were going to need some backup here. She moved as close as possible to him, drawing breath to whisper, when a voice shouted from far behind them.

“Pender’s down. We’ve got visitors, boys!”

Cyn never got to ask her question. Fifteen pairs of eyes suddenly swung in her direction, and she dove right, hearing bullets ricochet all around her, crying out as something hot and sharp grazed her left arm. She continued rolling, sliding beneath the shelves, crawling forward on her elbows, trying to put distance between her and whoever was shooting. There were footsteps all around her, boxes crashing to the ground, shelves grating on the hard floor. Men were screaming, grunting with effort, shots filling the high-ceilinged room until her ears rang. She froze, listening for sounds of pursuit, straining to hear above the noise as she began moving again, wanting to get closer to the open space, needing to see what was going on. She reached the end of a row and peered out to see Raphael wreaking mayhem, picking grown men up like children’s toys and throwing them aside. He was violence in motion, teeth bared, long black coat swirling around his legs, eyes flashing in anger. But as well as he fought, there were a lot of them and only one of him. His blood was flying from too many gunshot wounds, splattering his victims, the floor around him, the doors beyond him. Surely, Duncan would come soon?

Cyn began firing. She couldn’t offer the kind of physical force that Raphael could, but she was handy with a gun. She fired and moved from cover to cover, drawing the men’s attention away from Raphael, but in the process pinning herself in a corner. She cut a glance at the office which was now only a few feet away. Its flimsy plasterboard wall wasn’t much protection, but it might be the best she could get. Using the last few boxes as cover, she popped a fresh magazine in the Glock, then stood and sucked in a breath to run for it. A short, wiry man stepped into the open doorway, raised an AK-47 and began spraying the warehouse with bullets. Cyn felt the first rush of real fear. Raphael might be able to take a lot of damage, but even the vampire lord could be destroyed by the full force of an automatic weapon.

She screamed in anger, bringing her gun up and firing in a single, smooth movement. She fired in rapid succession, hitting the shooter in the chest with all four shots. He spun around in shock, eyes meeting hers briefly, before crashing backward. Bullets whizzed past her head as she ran for the office, diving over the body of the shooter and through the door. She rolled immediately to her feet and came face-to-face with a grim man who swung at her with the butt of his weapon, knocking her viciously back to the floor. Kolinsky. Of course. Her vision grayed in and out as he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her up and twisting her around, wrenching her arm as he tore the gun from her weakened fingers. She cried out in pain and heard Raphael roar with fury in the other room, followed by Duncan’s shout and the frantic screams of terrified men. Clearly, the reinforcements had arrived.

“Cyn!” The warehouse echoed with the force of Raphael’s call. She could hear his hard footfalls as he approached the office, could feel his power riding before him, buffeting the thin walls of the office, sucking the breath from her lungs. The man behind her stiffened as he felt the power wash over his skin. His arm tightened around her spasmodically and his heartbeat thudded against her back.

Raphael came through the door like a child’s nightmare, his eyes glowing an almost solid silver with wrath, his gleaming fangs fully extended, blood painting his mouth a brilliant red, dripping from his chin to shine wetly against the tattered remains of his black shirt. His huge chest was heaving with the fury of his breath, and his hands curled into claws as his gaze found her and he growled a warning. “Release her, human.”

“Who are you?” the man rasped, fear taking away his breath, coarsening his voice.

“Release her.”

The man tightened his grip. “Come closer and she dies.”

Raphael’s mouth widened in a terrifying smile. “You think to bargain with me?” His eyes shifted to take in the blood oozing down Cyn’s arm and running freely from the gash on her forehead. “Cyn?” There was a tenderness in his voice when he said her name. She licked swollen lips, tasting her own blood, and nodded to him.

Raphael’s gaze returned to Kolinsky. “You are not dead yet, human. But you will soon wish you were.”

He was not even a blur of movement. One moment, she was gripped against Kolinsky’s burly chest, the gun hard in her back, and the next she was being smothered by Raphael’s big body, his broad shoulders shielding her completely as he backed her against the wall. Kolinsky lay on the floor whimpering piteously, one arm gushing blood as shredded sinew strained to hold it to his shoulder. An animal-like whine escaped his lips as he raised himself on his one good arm and crawled away, scrabbling at the floor in desperation.

Raphael pressed against her suddenly, his low growl drawing her eyes away from the terrified man crawling out the door to the furious, and fully aroused, vampire holding her in place. He lowered his head to lick her face, and she heard him hiss with pleasure at the taste of her blood. Her heart was pounding with excitement, the adrenaline rush of the fight still coursing through her system. Raphael’s mouth found hers and she reacted without thinking, twisting her hands in his short hair, crushing her lips against his. She wanted this, wanted him. She registered the slamming of a door, and somewhere in her head, her brain was telling her to stop, but her body refused to listen. Desire flooded her senses, overwhelming thought.

Raphael felt the surge of Cyn’s hunger as if it was his own. His erection throbbed against her as she shifted, cupping its hard length in the burning triangle between her thighs. His fangs nicked her tongue and he groaned as her warm blood flowed between their lips.

“Sweet Cyn,” he murmured, sliding his hand beneath her sweater to tear her bra aside impatiently, then cupping the heavy weight of a bare breast, rubbing the nipple to hardness and beyond until the pain made her cry out with need. Unable to restrain himself, he snarled as he ripped her jeans open like the flimsiest silk and shoved his hand between her legs to find her slick and hot and ready for him. While his mouth continued to taste every inch of her face, her mouth, her neck, he yanked his own zipper open and stroked his hard shaft against the naked skin of her belly. He lifted her to meet him, her legs opening to wrap around his waist.

Cyn’s eyes seemed to clear with the sudden realization of what was about to happen, but he didn’t give her the chance to protest. He raised her with both hands, crushing her against the wall. “Mine,” he growled and buried his entire hard length inside her with a single powerful thrust, swallowing her scream.

He groaned with pleasure at the feel of her. She was wet, so wet and so hot he thought she’d burn his flesh. Her tight walls gripped him, squeezing as he forced his way deeper yet. Her cries of surprise turned to moans of need, and he felt her begin to ripple around him as the first orgasm took her, arching her back, pulsing along his cock, hard within her. Wave after wave followed as she screamed into his mouth, until the spasms faded into shudders. Her eyes opened, blurry with desire, until a fire lit and they burned with a passion that equaled his own. Long legs wrapped more tightly around his waist, pulling him against her, holding him captive. The wall behind them quaked with the force of his pounding, and still she demanded more, her blunt human teeth biting his shoulder where it was bared by his wounds, sending tremors of incredible ecstasy shuddering through his body, tightening his cock to an unbearable hardness as her warm tongue licked the blood from his skin. He felt his own release building and lifted her higher, ramming himself into her until she climbed to a second climax, her sheath caressing him, seducing him, surrounding him with a volcanic heat until he roared in orgasm and filled her with a wet heat of his own.

“More,” she whispered hoarsely and began moving against him once again, rousing him to meet her demand.

 

Chapter Twenty-nine

CYNTHIA WOKE slowly, jarred from an almost drugged sleep by pain. She rolled over and gasped, swallowing a groan as every muscle complained. What the hell? She opened her eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. And then she remembered. The warehouse. Kolinsky. Oh my God, Raphael! She rolled over in a panic, thankful to discover she was alone. She closed her eyes in a different kind of pain, and tears found their way down her cheeks. You are such a fool, Cyn.

She groped to the side of the bed and stood. Spying a bathroom across the room, she made her way over to it, turned on the light and stepped in front of the mirror, almost afraid of what she’d see. The gash on her forehead where Kolinsky had hit her was closed, scabbed over in a neat line above her right eyebrow and surrounded by bruises that were already beginning to yellow with age. Twisting to one side, she frowned at the grazing bullet wound on her arm from early in the fight. A stab of pain answered her probing, but nothing more than an angry red scar marred her pale flesh. She wrapped her arms around herself uneasily. Had she been out that long? Long enough for wounds to heal or . . . She flashed back to the small office in the warehouse, Raphael’s eyes gleaming as he licked her wounds, her own mouth filling with . . .

She spun around and dropped to the toilet, vomiting uncontrollably, gagging in horror when she saw the black of regurgitated blood, like coffee crystals floating in the artificially blue water. Had she actually drunk some of Raphael’s blood? And what did that mean? She only knew rumors about how vampires were changed, reborn, whatever the hell they called it. Was she a vampire now? Gripping the sink for support, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered back to the elegant bedroom. Heavy drapes covered the window, but she could see a line of light around the edges and hear the steady hiss of the waves. She walked slowly over to the glass and, cursing herself for an idiot, hesitantly slipped the fingers of one hand into the hot sunlight. Nothing. Okay. So she wasn’t a vampire.

She yanked the drapes fully open. The sun was dropping fast. Which meant she had to get out of here now.

A frantic search of the bedroom turned up the remnants of her clothing. She tugged them on, snarling in frustration to find the zipper on her jeans torn beyond recovery. Her sweater was more or less intact, enough for modesty anyway, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the gap at her waist. She opened the closet and found Raphael’s long, leather coat hanging there, dark and stiff with blood and . . . other things. A vague memory surfaced of the big vampire wrapping her in its warm depths before carrying her out to the cars where Duncan waited. Duncan and the other vampires. Waiting while she and Raphael had sex, for God’s sake, in the middle of a fire fight. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her face hot with belated embarrassment, she dragged the heavy coat from its hanger and pulled it on. It would have to do for now. Her boots sat next to the bed, splattered with blood like everything else, but undamaged. It felt good to tug them on her feet, to have something solid, something of her own. A quick glance around the room sent her rushing over to a table near the door where her weapons lay waiting for her. Both had been cleaned and reloaded, one tucked into her shoulder rig. She took off the coat long enough to don the holster, then drew it back on quickly, sliding the other weapon into a pocket. That was it. No keys. Where was her car?

She stood next to the door, listening, but heard no sound from the other side. She twisted the knob slowly, then pulled the door open and peered into the hallway. No one. Orienting herself by the view from the window, she figured she was on the second floor, not far from Raphael’s office. Probably where he stashed his blood donor du jour for easy access, she thought nastily. Reaching the first floor, she hesitated, edging down the hall and into the spacious entry.

There were guards here. Human guards. Looking past them, she could see her car parked outside, exactly the same spot as last time. So maybe the keys were in it again? Was she a prisoner? If she simply walked out like she knew where she was going, would they try to stop her?

Cyn straightened, tugging the heavy coat closed, and slipping her right hand into her pocket, feeling her spare Glock’s reassuring weight. With a confident nod and a smile for the surprised guards, she strolled toward the glass doors and was out the door and into her car before they’d really registered her presence. The keys sat in the ignition; she twisted them quickly, and the Land Rover responded with its usual heavy rumble. The pressure rolled off her chest as she drove away from the house, then tightened again as she thought about the guards at the gate. Maybe that’s why the house guards hadn’t bothered to stop her. There was no need.

She slowed down as the guard stepped out of the gatehouse and approached the side of her car. “Ms. Leighton, I didn’t know you’d be leaving.”

“Going home to change clothes.” She wrinkled her face meaningfully. “You know how that is.”

The guard looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “I guess I do, but I don’t—”

“I’m not a prisoner, am I?” she asked, feigning confusion.

“Of course not, but—”

“Well, then, I want to go home and change clothes. It’s only five minutes from here.”

“Uh, okay. I guess. You’ll be coming back?”

“Of course.” Eventually. Someday.

The guard frowned, but signaled his buddy and the gate rolled open. In only minutes, Cyn was breezing down the highway toward her own place.

Her garage door stood open, so she rolled inside and opened the car door. She was moving slowly now, the high of her easy escape beginning to wear off as sore muscles asserted their unhappiness. She wanted nothing more than a long soak in a hot bath, and maybe a nice, deep tissue massage. She almost groaned out loud at the very thought of how good it would feel.

“Ms. Leighton?”

Cyn jerked in surprise, her hand going to the gun in her pocket before she recognized one of Raphael’s human guards standing in her garage. “What?” she said irritably.

“Are you supposed to be here, ma’am? I mean, I was told to watch the place because you’d be staying up at the estate for a few days.”

“Really? And who the hell told you that?”

“Lord Raphael, ma’am.”

“Figures. This is my house.” She peered at his name tag. “Tony. So as for whether I’m supposed to be here. I think that’s up to me.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I better check in.” He lifted his cell phone . . . so Cynthia shot him in the leg. He fell to the hard concrete with a cry of pain.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she apologized, rushing over. “Really, I am. It’s nothing personal. I’m sure you’re a nice guy trying to do your job. But I can’t have you bringing down the house on me. I need a little air. You can understand that, can’t you, Tony?” Cyn was babbling, almost as shocked by the turn of events as poor Tony, who could only moan in response.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She grabbed the small pillow she kept in her back seat and shoved it under his head. A quick check of the bullet wound verified that she hadn’t hit anything vital, but there was still some bleeding. Ignoring his fretful attempts to stop her, she stripped off his belt and slipped it around his upper thigh in a tourniquet of sorts, grimacing at the position of his leg. The bullet might have hit bone, but she couldn’t do anything about that right now.

Next, she jumped up, ran over and hit the button to close the door so her neighbors wouldn’t see a bloody man lying in her garage. Bad enough they might have heard the shot, but most of them should be gone on a workday afternoon, and people really didn’t pay attention to what went on outside their own little worlds anyway.

After confiscating Tony’s cell phone and gun, she hurried into the condo, yanking blankets and more pillows from the downstairs closet and dumping them on the floor near the stairs. Upstairs, she snagged a couple bottles of water and some nice Percocet the oral surgeon had prescribed after pulling her wisdom teeth. As drugs went, it had been major overkill, which was why she’d never taken any, but it had made her wonder what kind of wimps he usually dealt with. On the other hand, it was perfect for poor Tony, who was going to be feeling a world of hurt very soon. She ran back to the garage. Tony glared at her with pain-fogged eyes as she was making him a nice little nest to rest in.

“You shot me,” he moaned in disbelief.

“I know. I said I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe you shot me.”

She just looked at him. Maybe it was shock. “Come on,” she said, tugging him up onto his one good leg. He cried out and Cyn winced in sympathy as she helped him over to the pile of blankets she’d arranged. “I’d put you in the house, but you’re really better off out here, especially if it’s vamps that come to rescue you. They won’t be able to get into the house, you know, and even you guys,” she meant the human guards, “would have some trouble. I’m a bit paranoid when it comes to security. If they did manage to break in, the alarm would go off and the security company would come and . . . well, I think Raphael would be pretty unhappy about that, don’t you?”

“You shot me,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” she said shortly. “Look, take this nice pill.” She put the pill in his mouth and held the water bottle up, forcing him to drink. “This will all seem like a dream soon.” She gave Tony a quick pat and dashed back up the stairs, racing through the rooms like a mad woman. She tore off what was left of her bloodstained clothes and put on fresh jeans and a t-shirt, along with her own heavy leather jacket. Raphael’s long coat she hung in her closet, remembering with a pang how perfectly it had draped the vampire’s powerful body.

Focus, Cyn! Yanking off her bloody shitkickers, she drew on her most comfortable Zanotti western boots. She grabbed whatever else she thought she might need, threw it into a duffel bag and was back in the garage in fifteen minutes. A fast check of Tony found him dozing happily, his color good, the bleeding all but stopped. All good. She nudged him awake.

“How often do you check in, Tony?”

“Not gonna tell you.”

“Sure you are. Come on, how often?”

“Every hour,” he mumbled. Wonderful pills, truly.

Cyn glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes after three. So had he checked in at three? Or was he due to check in soon? She had no way of knowing, but let’s assume the worst.

Standing on the back bumper of her truck, she could barely see out the long narrow window at the top of the door. No one around. With the engine running, she hit the opener, backed out, then closed the door again as soon as her hood cleared the threshold. She didn’t know where she was going, but she wanted to be long gone before Tony woke up and found out she really wasn’t a bad person. After all, she’d left him his cell phone.

 

Chapter Thirty

CYN DROVE SOUTH on Pacific Coast Highway with no destination in mind. She’d considered and dismissed the idea of stopping at her office. If Raphael had thought to put a man on her condo, the next place he’d look for her would be the office. On the other hand, she really needed a shower and some rest. She picked up her phone to call the local hotels, then noticed she had two messages, both from her friend Benita. She played back the first message.

“Hey, chica. I’m calling you back.”

Cyn paged forward to the next message. “Lemme esplain,” her friend said in an exaggerated Ricky Ricardo accent, “You called. I called you back. Then you call me back.”

Cyn was still laughing when she hit the 10 freeway on her way to Benita’s.

Benita Carballo lived in a small fifties era bungalow west of downtown L.A. The house was one of hundreds, if not thousands, built after World War II to accommodate the workers flooding into Southern California’s burgeoning military-industrial complex. They were small, usually two bedroom structures, with a single bath and modest yard. The original construction had been wood siding, although many of them had been upgraded to stucco over the years. Benita’s was one of those. Her house was neat and well-cared for, pale yellow with white trim. When Cyn pulled up at the curb, all the shades were drawn and the morning paper still sat on the front step. Her friend’s car was parked in the short driveway, in front of a detached garage which Cyn happened to know was used as storage space by a variety of friends and family.

Cynthia picked up her cell phone and punched in Benita’s number. It rang several times before the machine picked up.

“Benita, it’s Cyn,” she said loudly. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Someone picked up the phone, then dropped it with a loud thunk. Cynthia jerked her ear away, then back in time to hear Benita’s sleep-roughened voice say, “Chica, you better have a very good reason for waking me up.”

“Hey, this is me calling back. Besides, it’s almost rush hour . . . and I mean afternoon rush hour.”

Benita snorted. “It’s rush hour twenty-four hours a day in this town. What’s up?”

“I can’t call to say “hi” to an old friend? I’ve gotta have an up?”

“Tell it to the rich boys, baby. I know you better.”

Cyn sighed dramatically. “Eckhoff told me you might have answers to some questions.”

“Eckhoff? Did you know that old man’s pounding Jennifer down in records?”

“No shit? He told me he had someone; I thought he meant his dog.”

Benita coughed a surprised laugh. “That’s the Cyn I know. So where are you?”

“Right in front of your house. See what a polite person I am? Did I ring the doorbell? No. I called first.”

“Dios mio. Come on in. I’ll make coffee.”

By the time Cyn reached the door, Benita had opened it and disappeared again. Cyn scooped up the paper and opened the old-fashioned, wood-framed screen door, letting herself in. The house was neat and tidy, with shiny wooden floors. Nothing was out of place, not even a magazine or a book. It barely looking lived in. She figured Benita had a cleaning service, because the girl Cyn remembered was not that neat. She could hear her friend puttering around the kitchen and made her way in that direction.

Benita glanced over her shoulder when Cynthia entered the tiny kitchen, arching one eyebrow as she took in Cyn’s battered and bruised face. “I see we’ve got some catching up to do.” She pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard and set them on the tiled counter. “I’ve been gone a few days, so the best I can offer is coffee and a reheated bolillo from the freezer. You want anything else, you’re going to the store.”

“Coffee’s fine. What’re you working on for the department these days?”

She shrugged off the question. “The usual,” she said.

Cyn covered her surprise by walking over and sitting on one of two bar stools that stood against the wall. It wasn’t like Benita to be coy. Even after Cyn had left the department, Benita had always been eager to share pretty much everything about her assignments. “Eckhoff says you’re working the Russians.”

Benita turned sharply, her dark eyes suspicious. “Why’d he tell you that?”

“Jesus, Benita, what’s the problem? I asked him a few questions, and he said you could probably answer them better than he could.”

“What questions?”

“I’m looking for a Russian. All I have is a name. Kolinsky.” She was watching the other woman closely, and so she caught the slight tightening of her expression at the name.

“Sure,” Benita said with forced ease. “Kolinsky’s local, but you might be too late. He got hit pretty hard last night. What’s this about?”

“Who hit him?” Cyn asked, wondering how much had gotten out about their raid. She didn’t know for sure, couldn’t remember anything after the fire fight, but she thought they’d taken Kolinsky alive, and maybe a couple of others, as well.

“I don’t know any details yet, but if he’s who you’re looking for, you may have to look somewhere else. What’s your interest anyway?”

“I think he kidnapped someone close to my client. And my client wants that someone back.”

“Kidnapping? Not your usual bag, chica.”

“So Eckhoff has told me. What about somebody named Pushkin? Eckhoff never heard of the guy, and my source was a little shaky.”

“Pushkin?” Benita ran a shaky hand through her short hair before answering. “No,” she said. “Never heard that one.” She jumped up, suddenly hyper. “Those bolillos are sounding good, after all. You want one?” She pulled a plastic bag from the freezer.

“No, I’m good, thanks. So, how’s the job?”

“Sucks, but it’s gotta be better than doing dirty work for vampires, right?”

“Okay.” Cyn stood, hurt and insulted. “Clearly I’ve made a mistake here. You go back to sleep, maybe wake up sweeter, and I’ll get my information somewhere else.”

She was halfway to the front door when Benita called her back. “Look, I’m sorry, Cyn. Come back. This assignment’s gone on too long and it’s getting to me, that’s all. Come back. Please.”

Cyn turned around and studied her doubtfully. Then she shrugged. “All right. Let’s start over. So, what’s up, Benita?”

“They’ve got me working the Russians is what. It’s not my territory; it’s not what I’m used to. I don’t know these people, I don’t know their culture, their customs, and it’s stringing me out like crazy.”

“Why you? I mean, you’re a great cop, but . . .” Cyn gestured. “You don’t exactly blend.” Benita was a pretty Latina with dark eyes and curly black hair that she kept painfully short.

Benita blew out an exasperated breath. “Tell me about it. Unfortunately, one of the targets likes his meat nicely browned, so here I am.”

“No accounting for taste, huh?”

She laughed. “That’s what I keep telling him.” Her face sobered before she turned to pour the coffee. She walked over and handed Cyn one of two mugs, gesturing at the sugar on the bar behind Cyn. Opening the refrigerator, she poured half and half right from the carton into her own cup. Cynthia shook her head at the raised carton and spooned some sugar into her coffee while Benita put the cream away and joined her on the bar stools.

“So, where’d you get Kolinsky?” Benita asked.

“From a dying man.”

“Who was he and how’d he die?”

“I didn’t know him, and as for how . . . too young and unexpectedly.”

“How do you know his information’s any good?”

“Let’s say this guy was motivated to tell the truth.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Bad luck about that hit last night,” Benita said too casually, taking a sip of her coffee. “Might be bad luck for me, too.”

“Wait, he wasn’t your guy, was he?”

“What? Oh. No. No, my guy’s a lot higher than that.” She lifted her gaze, taking inventory of Cyn’s battered face. “You look like you’ve hit some bad luck, too.”

“What, this?” Cyn waved away her friend’s concern with one hand. “A stake out gone bad. Guy cheating on his wife didn’t want his picture taken.”

“Imagine that.”

“Yeah. Listen, Benita, you be careful with this Russian. Eckhoff tells me those are some bad people.”

“Yeah.” She looked away, then back. “You know, I think it might be too late for careful. Look,” she continued, suddenly full of enthusiasm. “If you really want to know what’s going on with these guys, why don’t you come with me tonight? There’s a big to-do, some fucking Russian thing, I don’t know. But they’re all going to be there. It’s a crown performance. Should be a good party if nothing else.” She reached out and tugged the ends of Cynthia’s stylishly ragged hair over the cut on her forehead. “They’ll love you, girl. A little makeup and you’ll be fine as always.”

Cynthia thought it over. Something odd was going on. Benita was acting strangely, full of secrets one minute, then all happy and “Hey come to the party” the next. On the other hand, if Cyn could get inside even for a night, chat up a few of the bad guys, flirt a little. She didn’t think much about her own looks, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of them. Men generally liked her, at least until they found out she had a brain.

One thing she knew for sure after seeing last night’s operation, Kolinsky wasn’t the end game of Alexandra’s kidnapping. She’d bet money his involvement ended with blackmailing Judkins and inserting the unlamented Barry onto the estate. He probably had nothing at all to do with the actual kidnapping. Of course, what she should do, instead of haring off on her own investigation, was wait until after dark, and call Raphael to find out if they’d questioned Kolinsky yet, and what, if anything, he’d told them. But then, Cyn had never been one to do what she should.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Sounds good.” She glanced down at what she was wearing. “I have to get some different clothes.”

Benita ran her gaze over Cyn’s worn denims and leather jacket. “Yeah, you do. These guys are really big on dressing up. Wear something sexy and short, something that shows off those long, skinny legs of yours.”

“My legs are not skinny, you midget.” It was an old, familiar argument between them.

“You keep telling yourself that, chica.” Benita checked the time. “Look, the party’s closer to your house than mine, so why don’t you wait while I change, then we can go directly from your place.”

“Mmm, maybe not. I’m kind of avoiding my place today. You go ahead and get ready, I’ll go shopping.” She stood, her muscles reminding her of how sore she was, which in turn reminded her she’d never gotten that hot bath. She sighed. “Listen, uh, before I go, can I grab a quick shower?” She stripped off her jacket without thinking. “I mean I don’t want to try on clothes all—”

Benita gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the full extent of Cyn’s blood and bruises. “You got boyfriend trouble, girl?”

“Yeah,” Cyn mumbled. “Something like that. How about that shower?”

Benita gave her a doubtful look, shaking her head in disapproval. “Be my guest, chica. Clean towels in the hallway closet.”

“Thanks.”

“And don’t use all the hot water!”

THREE HOURS LATER, Benita was rolling through the stations on Cyn’s satellite radio, muttering about finding something with a little “salsa.” Cyn was only half paying attention, more worried about the dress she was wearing as it crawled up her thighs, not to mention the four inch heels that looked great with the dress, but were far higher than what she was used to. The challenge had been finding a dress that was sufficiently sexy and still concealed the worst of her bruises from the night before. Not to mention that while she was willing to be a party girl in the interest of finding out more about Kolinsky, or more to point, whoever was backing him, she had no intention of being somebody’s easy pickup. She wasn’t that dedicated.

She’d settled on a form fitting black knit, with a high neck, long sleeves and a hemline several inches above her knee. She’d had to buy makeup as well, spending a fortune on stuff she’d never wear again, and having the girl at the counter slather it on for her. The cosmetics girl had been vastly sympathetic about Cyn’s rapidly healing injuries, working hard to cover them up, while dropping hints about some crisis line for battered women. All in all, it had been a pretty humiliating trip to the mall and Cyn had been more than happy to leave it behind, pick up Benita and turn the car west once again.

The party was at a house deep in Decker Canyon, well off Pacific Coast Highway and close to the northern county border. As the crow flies, it wasn’t that far from her condo or, for that matter, Raphael’s estate. But for a mere human, confined to established roadways, it was a good ten miles of twisting canyon along a circuitous route that surely backtracked on itself more than once. Normally, she would have taken the 10 freeway west from Benita’s house all the way to the Coast Highway north, then driven up Decker from there. It was shorter, probably faster, and certainly more scenic. But it also would have taken her right by Raphael’s estate and her own condo. And she was pretty sure Tony had found his cell phone long ago. So instead, she took the long way around through the San Fernando Valley. Benita slanted Cyn a quizzical look when she made the turn that would take them to the Valley, but bought Cyn’s story about construction slowing down traffic near the beach.

After a considerable distance, and the usual traffic hold ups, they reached Decker and began heading deeper into the canyon. Cyn’s conscience was nagging her, urging her to call Raphael, to let him know where she was. He would probably worry if she didn’t. She remembered the rage on his face when he’d seen her injured, when Kolinsky had make the mistake of holding her captive. She picked up the phone. But the signal was flat. They were already too deep into the hills.